


Dreams of Red

by Honeyeonii



Category: The Creatures | Cow Chop RPF
Genre: Angst, Death, Fake Chop, Heist gone wrong, M/M, aleks is going through it, no happy ending, uhhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29282739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honeyeonii/pseuds/Honeyeonii
Summary: "You're going to diein your best friend's arms.And you play along because it's funny, because it's written down,you've memorized it,it's all you know.”Or Aleks dreamed about this once, long ago.
Relationships: Aleksandr Vitalyevich Marchant/James Richard Wilson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Dreams of Red

He saw this in a dream once. Back when they were first beginning, waking up in a cold sweat. It was one of those freezing Denver nights that he never really got used to. Their worn down house that was squeezed into an almost cookie-cutter style neighborhood. It didn’t belong, like them but it was affordable and inconspicuous. 

he saw this in a dream once, he woke up screaming. but Aleks doesn’t scream. He doesn’t scream, doesn’t cry, doesn’t do emotions. But here he was, screaming in this shitty Denver house, sweat running down his back, sticking his ratty t-shirt to his skin. 

He looks to his phone, bright white light blaring 

2:52am. 

He remembers the door slamming open, James standing there, gun in hand, ready for whatever shit was going on in Aleks’ room. 

Aleks doesn’t do emotion but the look of fear on James’ face almost broke him. James messy bun half leaning, his gray shirt crumpled and wrinkled. A line going across his right cheek from his pillow. 

He was beautiful  
and dangerous. 

They don’t need to speak to know what happened. And they won’t talk about this, even though Aleks knows they should but that’s not what they do. They don’t share feelings, concerns, that’s not part of this job, this life. Get too close and you burn. 

So James clicks the safety back on and leaves, leaving the door open. It’s something. A small gesture to let him know he’s not far and if something actually happens he’ll be there, but nothing farther than that. 

They’re partners after all. Without the other this shit would fall apart and they barely have anything. 

Right now, Aleks is wishing he swallowed his fucking pride and said something back then. But now he’s on the floor of some high-end bank, bleeding. It’s painful, peaceful, terrifying. 

He saw this in a dream once, but never got this far. He got shot and he saw James and that was that. He wasn’t told what the fuck to do if this happened. Hell, James didn’t tell him what to do if he got shot. And James told him everything he was suppose to do, not one step out of line. 

Here is Aleks, bleeding, Joe is above him, calling someone over the phone, probably Brett, and James is nowhere to be seen. This is not how the dream went. 

It was supposed to be Aleks gets shot James comes over, holds his hand and the dream ends, not this shit. 

He tries to speak, he really does but all he hears is a disgusting gurgle and the recognizable taste of blood. Warm and metallic. 

Joe, still above him, but now calling out to someone across the banks lobby. He hears him, but doesn’t understand what the fuck he is saying. It reminds him of when he was first learning English. 

The bright light above him blackens and there’s a face above him that’s not Joe. 

James. 

He’s whispering something. Slowly, carefully moving Aleks’ head to his lap, brushing the hair out of his face. Aleks briefly thinks this is the closest they’ve ever been since they met. He realizes how pretty James is, even if he’s covered in his blood and dust from a rogue shot hitting the ceiling. 

He isn’t sure what he’s suppose to say right now. They never told him how to react to getting shot. So he lays there, painful and bloody, and James is still saying something to him but what’s the point of listening when he much rather looks at James pretty brown eyes. 

He saw this once in a dream, but he thinks maybe it wasn’t suppose to end like this. Dying in your best friends arms who you happen to be in love with. 

He should say something, he thinks. But right now he can’t really think of any words. They’re all scrambled in his brain and refusing to form together. He tries Russian, a little clearer, but still pretty jumbled. 

“прекрасные глаза” He pushes the words out, blood coating them. 

It’s not really a sentence but it’ll do. 

He saw this in a dream once, if only it was still a dream.

**Author's Note:**

> depression writing  
> twitter/tumblr @honeyeonii


End file.
